Heroines
by White-Tainted-Red
Summary: Kyuubi and Sharingan. Two meant-to-be heroes whose sole purposes are to avenge their parents' deaths. Can they overcome the personality flaws each possesses and work together? There's only one way to find out.


Sharp azure eyes surveyed their surroundings, watching the rain fall victim to gravity. The blonde slouched further back onto the heels of his feet, shaking damp hair from his face. He sighed as he emerged from his relatively low-visibility hiding spot. The thug he'd been trailing for the majority of the night had yet to discover the bug he'd planted on the inside of his fedora. The blonde prayed this didn't change. After all, the bug was his only way of knowing the man's whereabouts. It was at these times that he regretted his choice of attire. He had to maintain a loose trail to avoid being spotted. The fluorescent orange of his costume did little to camouflage him, and when he allowed his pessimistic side to show, he admitted it did more harm than good. Who could blame him though? He looked slick as fuck. He briefly glanced in the direction of the thug, expecting him to be in the same position he'd been thirty seconds ago. He assumed the bug had been discovered, as the thug was bolting out into the open street.

"Damn it." The blonde snapped, scaling the building nearest to him. In a matter of seconds he pulled himself over the edge of the roof. Raising a hand to his mask with ease, he activated one of his proudest inventions. He wouldn't call himself tech-savvy, but he took great pride in what little programming he could do. "ID: Antonio Sacramento. G6D9S." The software immediately tracked his target down, revealing a faint orange trail behind Antonio. He grappled across the apartment complex's courtyard. He had always been a fast sprinter, so he put this to good use. The rain was barely drizzling now, but had made hurtling himself over rooftops a rather dangerous task. Oh well, it couldn't possibly be any more dangerous than usual. When he was within hearing range of the broad shouldered goon, he clearly heard heavy panting. His youth was always an advantage during a chase. He swallowed his heart as he dove out over the edge. Placing ultimate trust in the instruction of his godfather, he braced himself for impact. The jump-and-capture technique worked surprisingly well for his first time alone on duty. His chest collided with the man's upper back, easily catapulting the man forward onto his knees. He ignored the throbbing ache of his upper body from the painful collision of flesh and flesh in favour of tying the man's arms behind his back. He took this opportunity to check the man for serious injuries. Finding none as he took a step back, he applauded himself over his handiwork. "I am _good_." He grinned in a strange sense of satisfaction. The sound of muttering reached his ears, but he figured Antonio was only berating himself for having fallen victim to a teenaged superhero. Despite having no superpowers, he liked the sound of superhero better than he did vigilante. He only used vigilante when in his godfather's presence. The old man never failed to remind him of his unquestionable commonplaceness. He never agreed with the statement. After all, it's quite rare for a teenager to sacrifice valuable hours of sleep to valiantly fight impending crime. Suppressing a yawn, he reckoned he should finish up so he could head home.

"How are you feeling, Antonio?" The blonde crouched in front of the hulking piece of human writhing on the pavement. He turned off the tracking software.

"Go to hell." Antonio sneered, straining against his bindings. The blonde decided to humiliate the man a bit more before calling in the blues. He patted the coarse hair of the man almost tenderly.

"I couldn't get closer than I already am." He said softly. "Of course, all of the credit goes to you."

A sinister smile had settled on Antonio's thin, cracking lips. If dictionaries had photographs, this man would be right next to "Ugly fucker."

"Not to you individually, but all of the sick sons of bitches like you in the world." The blonde snarled.

"These sick sons of bitches will keep coming and coming, kid." The man said, adopting a look of mock sympathy. The blonde, preoccupied with humiliating the man further, did not hear the approach of Antonio's crew. He did, however, feel the breath escape his lungs as a hand snaked around his neck.

"Gah!" As one member of the crew held him above the ground by his neck, the other two took advantage of the situation. They took turns at him like a punching bag. A set of brass knuckles made brutal contact with his nose. He could feel something dripping from his nose, and he was fairly certain he'd blown his nose before leaving on patrol. His neck felt like it was being torn into shreds. His lungs screamed for oxygen. Spots clouded his vision, and he took a moment to regain his senses. He inconspicuously reached a hand into his utility belt. Blindly feeling for a weapon, his fingers skimmed the blade of a knife. Seizing the hilt, he wasn't offered a chance to retaliate before his neck was released. He fell to the ground in a heap of coughing, gasping shame. He shuffled backwards to keep the enemy in sight. He found himself almost disappointed when he noticed all four men were either unconscious or dead. Only a figure cloaked in black remained standing. The blonde wasn't sure whether to feel angry over the unwelcome assistance, or intimidated by the obvious skill of the mystery figure.

"I had them." He blurted angrily without thought. He wiped the blood dripping from his nose away hastily.

"You clearly didn't." The figure replied. The deep voice clued him into the gender of the figure. It was most likely a man. Or a chick with a really deep voice.

"I clearly did, man." He hoped his assessment of the person's gender was correct.

"Let's pretend you really did have a plan-" The person made no indication that his assumption was incorrect.

"-I did!" The blonde interrupted. He stood and slowly approached the man.

"I find it hard to believe you could take out four thugs who are double your size." The man persisted.

He could feel his blood boiling in shock. "I am perfectly capable of doing so. I may be small, but you're not much fucking bigger."

"Not much fucking bigger? I'm a head taller than you, and have more muscle than you could ever dream of having."

"Don't give me that shit. You helped a bro out, that's all there is to it. We don't need to be having this conversation right now." The blonde ambled closer, and was embarrassed to admit to himself that the man was right.

"Fine. You're right. Don't expect me to sweep in and save your ass again though." The man snapped.

"I didn't need my ass to be saved! I had it under control before you rode in here on your fucking high horse." The blonde retaliated. The man irritated him, but intrigued him as well.

"I saw a civilian who needed assistance and I did what anyone would have done. Don't get your fucking panties in a knot."

"A civilian? Are you shitting me right now?" The blonde shouted incredulously. He raised his arms above his head to emphasise his disbelief.

"No." The man replied with a dead pan.

"I don't know about you man, but the civilians I know and protect don't wear fucking spandex all the time." The blonde rolled his eyes.

"I'm out of here." The man sharply turned. He was almost completely shrouded in darkness before the blonde called out to him.

"Wait... What's your name?"

"Sharingan." The man said after a pause.

"I'm Kyuubi." The blonde said softy. Sharingan had definitely captured his interest.

"I didn't ask."

"I told you anyways. How old are you?" Kyuubi snorted with a tilt of his head. He followed Sharingan out of the alley and into the faint illumination coming from the streetlights. He noticed the man had inky black hair which _had _to be gelled because it was defying gravity like it was its job.

"Why do you want to know?" Sharingan sighed, turning to face him. He had sharp features, which he figured corresponded with his personality. He couldn't see his eyes through the domino mask resting neatly over his upturned nose. His costume was much like his own, except for the unappealing orange of his own costume, of course. Silver was the eye-catcher of his costume.

"I don't know, do I need a reason? I don't come off as a criminal, do I?" Kyuubi asked, finally settling into the comfortable stage with Sharingan. His friends always told him he trusted too easily. He didn't think so at all. His friends also told him he had a tendency to ask too many questions. He was chatty, he supposed.

"No." The raven said simply.

"What do you mean, no? 'No, I don't need a reason' or 'No, I don't come off as a criminal'?" The blonde questioned, leaping from one foot to another like an overexcited puppy. He loved to make friends. He usually ended up with a significantly larger amount of enemies than friends though. He had yet to figure out the reason for that.

"You ask too many questions." Sharingan replied with a shake of his head. Maybe that was it.

"I'm fifteen." Kyuubi said, ignoring the subtle insult.

"Congratulations. You're older than I originally thought you were." The raven said scornfully.

"How old did you originally think I was?" The blonde crossed his arms above his head. He gazed over at the empty street, watching the reflections on the road shimmer occasionally.

"Twelve, maybe?" His gaze snapped to Sharingan. His eyes widened in shock, and he could tell the raven noticed it too. The faint grin on his face was a definite indicator.

"Y-You thought I was a pre-pubescent boy? What?" Kyuubi staggered forward dramatically. "You've got to be fucking kidding me. Is it my voice? I haven't had a voice crack in ages!"

"Your potty mouth was fundamental in estimating your actual age. After actually hearing you speak, I estimated thirteen."

"It's my voice, isn't it?" The blonde mumbled, nervously scratching at his throat. He felt a drop of rain on his nose.

"No, it's not your voice." Sharingan figured the blonde had had enough torment for the night. He lifted his head as a raindrop trailed down his cheek.

"Then what?" Kyuubi asked. The blonde realized that when the rain began to pour harder he would have to return home.

"Like I said before, it's your size. It's a bit of a surprise seeing someone as small as you out crime-fighting." Sharingan began to step backwards. "I'll see you around."

"It shouldn't be a surprise. I'm fast, I'm flexible, and I'm fucking sick." Kyuubi pursed his lips. "So, you never told me how old you were."

The raven made no indication that he was going to answer, let alone that he'd heard the question. As he disappeared around a bend, he turned briefly. "Fifteen," he called.

"Fifteen?" Kyuubi echoed. He passed the alley he'd been "saved" in, and realized he'd never called the cops to collect the garbage. He admired Sharingan's work as he dialled the emergency response number. To his joy, the men were unconscious but not dead. His seasoned godfather had prohibited him from doing so. He couldn't imagine what he'd tell his godfather if he heard. "I ran into another teenaged hero, and he murdered the goons holding me captive. I tried to stop him, but I was practically six feet under, gramps."

Leaving a note detailing the events of the crew's capture and imminent arrest, he started on his way home. He was lucky to live in a town where crime was relatively low. Unfortunately, his parents had been done in by criminals. His parents' murders were why he was fighting crime in the first place. Not that there was much of it to fight here, though. He was bound to run into another teen with the same ridiculous idea as him someday. He sauntered down his street, letting out a well-deserved sigh when he finally reached his driveway. The front door was thrown open the moment he stepped onto the porch.

"Naruto Uzumaki, you are about to get your ass handed to you!"


End file.
